Wednesday, January 27, 2010
ATL Cribs
One of my most creative, talented friends, Meredith Leach McBrearty - interior designer and handbag creator, must have been smoking crack one day because she asked me to send her pics of my crib. You can see how I upgraded from my dorm-room to a somewhat legitimate apartment. Thanks for all the kind words and inspiration, Mere!!!
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Pretty as a Peach
New York was such a whirlwind that I barely had time to write on my adventures. Actually, I'm just not sure I can share any stories without offending an inordinate amount of people. At the end of September, I packed up my dorm room and moved to Atlanta via Cleveland, Ohio (had to make a pit stop for a wedding). I'm mostly settled into my new digs at The Earle, Less money, and more square footage. I also managed to land a job at an art gallery...less money, more responsibility...which atleast made schooling worthwhile.
As for the city of Atlanta. I pretty much knew what I was getting into, but what I didn't realize is that it would take me so freakin' long to learn my way around this city. Maybe it's because every corner contains another ugly-ass condo building and similarly ugly-ass strip malls. I actually have a good sense of direction, only needing guidance the first time to a new destination. But not here. Not only do the drivers suck, and the traffic suck - - the street names suck, making the whole getting around town experience more miserable. How many Mills, Paces, Ferrys, and Peachtrees can there be? Howell Mill, Moores Mill, Brandon Mill, Paper Mill, Northside Ave, Northside Parkway, Northside Drive, New Northside Drive, North Pole, Powers Ferry, Johnson Ferry, Old Johnson Ferry, Paces Ferry, East Paces Ferry, West Paces Ferry, NEW Paces Ferry, Heards Ferry, East Wesley, West Wesley (say that 10 times fast), West Peachtree, Peachtree Battle, Peachtree Hills, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Circle, Peachtree Parkway, Peachtree Park, Peachtree Dunwoody...and I haven't even seen one fucking tree with a peach on it!
Atleast now, I am no longer maneuvering the city streets in my father's hunting truck. I'm now back to the good ole camry. Less cool, more gas mileage.
As for the city of Atlanta. I pretty much knew what I was getting into, but what I didn't realize is that it would take me so freakin' long to learn my way around this city. Maybe it's because every corner contains another ugly-ass condo building and similarly ugly-ass strip malls. I actually have a good sense of direction, only needing guidance the first time to a new destination. But not here. Not only do the drivers suck, and the traffic suck - - the street names suck, making the whole getting around town experience more miserable. How many Mills, Paces, Ferrys, and Peachtrees can there be? Howell Mill, Moores Mill, Brandon Mill, Paper Mill, Northside Ave, Northside Parkway, Northside Drive, New Northside Drive, North Pole, Powers Ferry, Johnson Ferry, Old Johnson Ferry, Paces Ferry, East Paces Ferry, West Paces Ferry, NEW Paces Ferry, Heards Ferry, East Wesley, West Wesley (say that 10 times fast), West Peachtree, Peachtree Battle, Peachtree Hills, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Circle, Peachtree Parkway, Peachtree Park, Peachtree Dunwoody...and I haven't even seen one fucking tree with a peach on it!
Atleast now, I am no longer maneuvering the city streets in my father's hunting truck. I'm now back to the good ole camry. Less cool, more gas mileage.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Ode to Helena Christensen (Alternate Title: BFF to the End)
Oh Helena, Oh Helena you cruise down the streets
on the West Village asphalt with your long slender feet
each day, for the past 10, I'm on my stoop, and you casually pass
to your crib 2 doors down, with a tight, tiny ass
sometimes at my "office", you will also stop in
for a coffee with milk, and a glimpse of the Ginge?
A stalker you must think me - no just your new best friend
So we smile, nod and wave, bff to the end.
on the West Village asphalt with your long slender feet
each day, for the past 10, I'm on my stoop, and you casually pass
to your crib 2 doors down, with a tight, tiny ass
sometimes at my "office", you will also stop in
for a coffee with milk, and a glimpse of the Ginge?
A stalker you must think me - no just your new best friend
So we smile, nod and wave, bff to the end.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Scholastic Fantastic
My existence in New York thus far has been pretty relaxed, not to say that the dawn of classes on Monday is going to make life frantic, but I am actually looking forward to having a full 8 hours of my day filled with something other than coffee shop lounging.
Earlier this week I received a confirmation email telling me where and when to show up for registration. At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then panic started to sink in. I haven’t been in a classroom in over 7 years. Do I need to go shopping for a first-day-of-class outfit? Do I carry a backpack or a satchel? Do I sit on the front row? Back row? Or just blend in? What kind of school supplies do I need? Yes, I said supplies (now dredge up memories of your favorite pencil grip w/ matching eraser tip). For some reason this bent me out of shape so much that I emailed the school director to ask. I could hear them laughing all of the way downtown from their high fallutin' office on the Upper East Side. But seriously, I’m not showing up w/ a 3-subject notebook when everyone is bringing a laptop. But then again, do I bring my laptop? I have quickly discovered that you are a complete loser in NY if you have a PC. My Toshiba could be the laughing stock of the Contemporary Art Class.
Shortly after the confirmation/registration I received an email for my first school “mixer.” More on that next week.
Earlier this week I received a confirmation email telling me where and when to show up for registration. At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then panic started to sink in. I haven’t been in a classroom in over 7 years. Do I need to go shopping for a first-day-of-class outfit? Do I carry a backpack or a satchel? Do I sit on the front row? Back row? Or just blend in? What kind of school supplies do I need? Yes, I said supplies (now dredge up memories of your favorite pencil grip w/ matching eraser tip). For some reason this bent me out of shape so much that I emailed the school director to ask. I could hear them laughing all of the way downtown from their high fallutin' office on the Upper East Side. But seriously, I’m not showing up w/ a 3-subject notebook when everyone is bringing a laptop. But then again, do I bring my laptop? I have quickly discovered that you are a complete loser in NY if you have a PC. My Toshiba could be the laughing stock of the Contemporary Art Class.
Shortly after the confirmation/registration I received an email for my first school “mixer.” More on that next week.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
The Mobile Office
A few things I have learned/have questions about not that my office is mobile:
1) Is there a kosher amount of time that one can use a cafe's free wifi services without making a purchase? It is sort of like using a gas station's bathroom...I always feel obligated to purchase something if I use their facilities. I inherited this from my mother. This morning I went to one cafe, spotted some computers, so found it safe to make a purchase (coffee and a muffin). I sat down, got situated, only to find that they don't have wifi. After consumption, I sauntered the streets looking for my next haunt, and went to a stand-by. But I felt obligated to purchase another coffee. So before entering I threw away my 1/4 drunk costa-rican blend. Now I've been sitting in the same cafe for a good 2 1/2 hours, and have spent a total of $10. I felt I should stay and eat lunch too.
2) Making friends - In NY, space is tight, so it is not uncommon to share a table with a stranger. However, this can sometimes be awkward, especially if this person stares at you blankly with a copy of Romeo and Juliet in their hand, and then proceed to smack their food. It's nice to have the computer screen to duck behind. However, this morning I didn't have the computer screen, and managed to make a new photographer friend.
1) Is there a kosher amount of time that one can use a cafe's free wifi services without making a purchase? It is sort of like using a gas station's bathroom...I always feel obligated to purchase something if I use their facilities. I inherited this from my mother. This morning I went to one cafe, spotted some computers, so found it safe to make a purchase (coffee and a muffin). I sat down, got situated, only to find that they don't have wifi. After consumption, I sauntered the streets looking for my next haunt, and went to a stand-by. But I felt obligated to purchase another coffee. So before entering I threw away my 1/4 drunk costa-rican blend. Now I've been sitting in the same cafe for a good 2 1/2 hours, and have spent a total of $10. I felt I should stay and eat lunch too.
2) Making friends - In NY, space is tight, so it is not uncommon to share a table with a stranger. However, this can sometimes be awkward, especially if this person stares at you blankly with a copy of Romeo and Juliet in their hand, and then proceed to smack their food. It's nice to have the computer screen to duck behind. However, this morning I didn't have the computer screen, and managed to make a new photographer friend.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
What to Expect When You're Not Expecting
You can expect that I’ll first be confused, then pissed off, and then run out of the store in tears, all the while forgetting to grab my purchase. Then when I have to turn around and go back into the store for my stupid hand soap, you can expect me to not talk to you, glare in your face, and expect you to also throw in a freebie for basically calling me fat. You can also expect that I’ll never be back to your store. “Oh!” she says, “well maybe it’s the sweater.” “Oh”, I say in my head, “maybe it’s your face, or your mom, or your mom’s face.”
You can maybe expect me to possibly hang up this sweater jacket…forever.
You can maybe expect me to possibly hang up this sweater jacket…forever.
Monday, May 18, 2009
How Does It Feel?
Other than a slight Northeast slant, and a few temporary nights of sleep on the floor? It feels pretty good. Things learned while packing? Start earlier and pack it yourself. This way when you forget to pack an integral part of your bed set up then you only have yourself to blame. When your mom forgets to pack it you become equally as frustrated, but you can't take it out on her because she was actually helping you...and it's your mom after all. Travel tips picked up while driving into the city? The Holland Tunnel does not allow trucks of any size to travel through to Manhattan. Take the Lincoln Tunnel, but don't expect the security personnel at the Holland tunnel to be accurate or at all helpful in their redirecting you to the Lincoln Tunnel. Also, you may or may not wind up at Giants Stadium. Lesson learned while unloading? Don't attach yourself to simple material things such as your brand new couch that you we're planning on using as your main, read only, source of lounging. Be prepared to sacrifice it to the streets. People in New York will pick up anything. Also, don't underestimate the strength of your 5'2" mover who weighs in at 110 lbs.
I'm only one weekend in, and I feel that I certainly have a ways to go before the city accepts me as a resident. I already have blisters on my feet from all of the walking. Those will hopefully disappear soon and be replaced by killer legs and glutes.
I'm only one weekend in, and I feel that I certainly have a ways to go before the city accepts me as a resident. I already have blisters on my feet from all of the walking. Those will hopefully disappear soon and be replaced by killer legs and glutes.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Spectacular, Spectacular
This morning I began to pack a bag consisting of the following items: hot rollers, hair spray, falsh eyelashes, heavy make-up, panty hose, feather boa, spandex, and various items of glitter and sequin. I know what you're thinking, drag show? No, my dear friends, it's the Adult Tap Spectacular. And tonight is the final dress rehearsal. This year, along with 20 other women and 2 men, spanning the ages of 26 - 75, I enrolled in the Time Step Studio. As a reward for our year's worth of hard work, we peform at the historic Alabama Theatre in the Adult Tap Spectacular. The Time Step Tap Spectacular is infamous in this city, for the courage these tappers show in performing before an audience of 2,000, while donning costumes that would make your father blush, and sometimes seeming the right size for a 10 yr old, and also being able to perform under the influence. But I am doing it happily, as one night on stage a year is all I need to fulfill my (not-so?) secret narcissism.
"So exciting, the audience will stomp and cheer!"
"So exciting, the audience will stomp and cheer!"
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Movin' On Up?
"New York I love you, but you're freaking me out." - LCD Soundsystem
It's official. I put in notice at work, condo goes on the market Monday, and I have posted all worldly possessions including my car on Craigslist. For what? 450 LESS square feet, 2 times more in rent, no job prospects, and money down on some summer classes in the Financial hub of the world during an economic crisis.
Count down to move date: 5 weeks
Level of preparedness (1 to 10 scale, 1 being least prepared): 2
Can you call it a quarter-life crisis when you're nearing 30?
It's official. I put in notice at work, condo goes on the market Monday, and I have posted all worldly possessions including my car on Craigslist. For what? 450 LESS square feet, 2 times more in rent, no job prospects, and money down on some summer classes in the Financial hub of the world during an economic crisis.
Count down to move date: 5 weeks
Level of preparedness (1 to 10 scale, 1 being least prepared): 2
Can you call it a quarter-life crisis when you're nearing 30?
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Facelift
While the black background catered to my sometimes dark sense of humor - it's a new year, so I'm going with a new look. Also, the black background with white writing was stressing my aging eyes.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Resolve and Evolve 2009
My Resolve and Evolve posts are not only a time to set goals for the new year, but also a time to reflect on the past year's accomplishments and derelictions. Dating stories are usually always the highlight of my year. 2008 had the 3-date weekend where I narrowly avoided a stalker, a clinger, and a Disney Lifetime Member. But I did meet my 2008 resolution of going on a subsequent dates, which is why I somehow managed to land a boyfriend, who has decided to stick around even after reading my lame-ass blog. I was also able to delete all sentimental text messages - mainly due to the fact that I dropped my blackberry in the toilet. But alas, the new year is here and it's time to Resolve and Evolve.
1) Buy new bras - But this was on the 2008 list? Yes, it was. And guess what, not only did I not buy new bras, but my boobs have managed to get even bigger.
2) Mail all birthday/congratulatory/thank-you cards in a timely manner - This resolution may also include me mailing the many, outdated addressed envelopes sitting on my desk at home. I mean, so what if Hebard's birthday card from 2004 never got to her, I'm sure she'd still love to the get a card from me no matter the month. It will be like I'm haunting my friends from the past. Maybe the real resolution is that I should just stop pretending that I'm one of those people who thinks about their friends and buys them cards to celebrate their milestones.
3) Cook at least one new recipe a week - I'm 28 and I figured it's about time I start becoming a little more domestic. At least I think that's the hint my mom is making when she gifts fancy dancy kitchen gadgets and cookbooks every Christmas and birthday. I'll probably start by dusting off the ole gravy strainer?
4) To not buy the Malibu Pilates Chair - Guthy-Renker and all of those other exercise infomercial folks are geniuses. They only air infomercials at a times during the day when normal people are out doing active things, and the pathetic are sitting on their asses mesmerized by the featured product's testimonials and demonstrations. You can get lost for hours dreaming of the potential physical transformation. I'm not going to lie, the Malibu Pilates Chair is a very attractive offer, with some very attractive bonus DVD's, workout charts, and diet suggestions. I mean, who can refute Susan Lucci and her petite little physique? I will not succumb, but rather save the $314.95 for my new bras.
I'd like to briefly showcase a friend's resolution (thanks, Haley): "Build up my immune system." This is really quite brilliant. In saying that you're going to build up your immune system, you don't have to identify the specific, pesky tasks that help you (exercise more, eat better foods, drink less alcohol, take a daily multi-vitamin, etc). This saves a lot of disappointment if you don't lose those 10lbs or eat your daily fruits and veggies, but ultimately you're the one who suffers because you'll be illin' all the time.
Happy 2009!
1) Buy new bras - But this was on the 2008 list? Yes, it was. And guess what, not only did I not buy new bras, but my boobs have managed to get even bigger.
2) Mail all birthday/congratulatory/thank-you cards in a timely manner - This resolution may also include me mailing the many, outdated addressed envelopes sitting on my desk at home. I mean, so what if Hebard's birthday card from 2004 never got to her, I'm sure she'd still love to the get a card from me no matter the month. It will be like I'm haunting my friends from the past. Maybe the real resolution is that I should just stop pretending that I'm one of those people who thinks about their friends and buys them cards to celebrate their milestones.
3) Cook at least one new recipe a week - I'm 28 and I figured it's about time I start becoming a little more domestic. At least I think that's the hint my mom is making when she gifts fancy dancy kitchen gadgets and cookbooks every Christmas and birthday. I'll probably start by dusting off the ole gravy strainer?
4) To not buy the Malibu Pilates Chair - Guthy-Renker and all of those other exercise infomercial folks are geniuses. They only air infomercials at a times during the day when normal people are out doing active things, and the pathetic are sitting on their asses mesmerized by the featured product's testimonials and demonstrations. You can get lost for hours dreaming of the potential physical transformation. I'm not going to lie, the Malibu Pilates Chair is a very attractive offer, with some very attractive bonus DVD's, workout charts, and diet suggestions. I mean, who can refute Susan Lucci and her petite little physique? I will not succumb, but rather save the $314.95 for my new bras.
I'd like to briefly showcase a friend's resolution (thanks, Haley): "Build up my immune system." This is really quite brilliant. In saying that you're going to build up your immune system, you don't have to identify the specific, pesky tasks that help you (exercise more, eat better foods, drink less alcohol, take a daily multi-vitamin, etc). This saves a lot of disappointment if you don't lose those 10lbs or eat your daily fruits and veggies, but ultimately you're the one who suffers because you'll be illin' all the time.
Happy 2009!
Monday, December 29, 2008
There's No Place Like Someone Else's Home for the Holidays
Have the rules changed with respect to dating and sharing holidays? I must still be a traditionalist, for I thought that you didn't share holidays until you were actually married. Or maybe it's just that I don't want to share my holidays until I'm actually married, or maybe I just don't want to share them period. Since being in my recent relationship people keep asking if we will be spending Thanksgiving together, or more recently Christmas together. "No," I usually say, and then maybe throw in another "no" just for emphasis, and then another "no" because I have just envisioned what that might be like...
The truth is, I was asked to Thanksgiving dinner, but I respectfully declined. And maybe once I set that tone, there was never really any discussion of whether or not we would be spending Christmas together. I mean, let's be honest, why would you want to prematurely subject yourself to someone else's holiday traditions? They will never be up to par with those that your family practice, and thus your partner's family will be unfairly judged (well, they will eventually be judged, but better later). If the tables were turned, I don't necessarily want to explain how every Christmas Eve my sister and I break out sequin gloves from high school dance team days and perform routines, or how my entire family drinks an inordinate amount of champagne and passes out before our guests have even left, or how my Dad generally doesn't rise until about noon and fixes a Bloody Mary Christmas.
It's sort of like when people talk about giving birth. I really don't want to know the details, not just because they're gross, but because I rather go into the whole experience with complete and utter ignorance. So yes, I just likened going home for the holidays with your significant other to giving birth. I mean, you can tell me about your traditions, but they may sound lame. And I rather experience them first hand once I am committed to having the baby. What?
The truth is, I was asked to Thanksgiving dinner, but I respectfully declined. And maybe once I set that tone, there was never really any discussion of whether or not we would be spending Christmas together. I mean, let's be honest, why would you want to prematurely subject yourself to someone else's holiday traditions? They will never be up to par with those that your family practice, and thus your partner's family will be unfairly judged (well, they will eventually be judged, but better later). If the tables were turned, I don't necessarily want to explain how every Christmas Eve my sister and I break out sequin gloves from high school dance team days and perform routines, or how my entire family drinks an inordinate amount of champagne and passes out before our guests have even left, or how my Dad generally doesn't rise until about noon and fixes a Bloody Mary Christmas.
It's sort of like when people talk about giving birth. I really don't want to know the details, not just because they're gross, but because I rather go into the whole experience with complete and utter ignorance. So yes, I just likened going home for the holidays with your significant other to giving birth. I mean, you can tell me about your traditions, but they may sound lame. And I rather experience them first hand once I am committed to having the baby. What?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Cup of Something Good
I was really beginning to think I had lost my edge given that I haven't been asked out on a date in sometime. No worries, I managed to find one in the most un-obvious of places...again. Last night I attended my condo association meeting, which generally consists of a few of the building occupants using up one plus hours of my life to talk about nonsense because I'm pretty sure this is the only human contact they have all year. Don't worry, we covered the gamut of dog-poop, dumpster placement, stray golf-shots and common area house-keeping all with me rolling my eyes a total of only 6 times. Usually I rush out of the meeting so I can be sure park correctly, given that this is often a major topic of conversation. Well, today I received an email from one of our 5 Condo Board Members. It was for all intents & purposes a date invitation, but the way it was composed certainly downplayed that to a painstaking degree. Excerpts:
1) "I was working with one of our clients recently that mentioned your name, along with other girls she knew" - - read, I decided to shoot you an email, but in the off-chance that you reject me I just want you to know that there are plenty of other single girls out there dying to receive an anonymous email from me.
2)"You seem like you’d make a nice friend if nothing else" - - read, I'm going ahead and setting your expectations low because I know you will be heartbroken if for some reason I don't call you back for a second...
3)"Cup of something good at Starbucks" - - read, I'm a little bit of a pansy-ass when it comes to coffee. I figured that you must be like me and go to Starbucks to get a frozen blended drink of chocolate and caramel with a drip of coffee, and an inordinate amount of whipped cream. Cup of something good??? Has he ever heard of scotch on the rocks?
1) "I was working with one of our clients recently that mentioned your name, along with other girls she knew" - - read, I decided to shoot you an email, but in the off-chance that you reject me I just want you to know that there are plenty of other single girls out there dying to receive an anonymous email from me.
2)"You seem like you’d make a nice friend if nothing else" - - read, I'm going ahead and setting your expectations low because I know you will be heartbroken if for some reason I don't call you back for a second...
3)"Cup of something good at Starbucks" - - read, I'm a little bit of a pansy-ass when it comes to coffee. I figured that you must be like me and go to Starbucks to get a frozen blended drink of chocolate and caramel with a drip of coffee, and an inordinate amount of whipped cream. Cup of something good??? Has he ever heard of scotch on the rocks?
Monday, October 06, 2008
Cast Your Vote
With the dawning of the lame age of converging last names for Hollywood couples, I'm a bit surprised that it hasn't bled over into the political arena. With less than a month away to the election, I propose we change to the following tickets:
(R) McCalin
(D) Jobama or Obiden (leave me a comment and let me know your favorite)
(R) McCalin
(D) Jobama or Obiden (leave me a comment and let me know your favorite)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Special Delivery
Don't you hate that image of the girl on her couch, wearing lounge pants and a sweatshirt, covered in a blanket, hair all-a-mess with a spoon in a tub of ice cream? I do too - - because it's often the reflection of myself in my t.v. screen whilst watching Lifetime Network for Women. Why isn't it acceptable to devour a tub of ice cream...alone, drink a full bottle of red wine...alone, or order a large pizza...for yourself?
Last night I stumbled across a sheet of coupons. Since the fridge was empty and I couldn't drive anywhere, you know because I had been drinking by myself, I decided to commit the crime and order the freakin' pizza. I made the call, got transferred to a closer delivery location, placed my order, reminded them of my coupon, and proceeded to wait the habitual 45 minutes. Somehow shortly after I hung up the phone I managed to fall asleep (this should come as no surprise to my friends who call me the Narc). When I woke up I was so excited for my pizza, but I looked down at my watch and an hour and a half had passed. What the hell! Confused, pissed and hungry I called the pizza place and yelled: "you guys never delivered my pizza!" (this had to be true, my condo is tiny, i was on the couch, I would have heard - - maybe the hoodie on my sweatshirt muffled the sound) - "hold one moment, ma'am, let me check...it says here it was a bad order." - "bad order? I've been sitting 5 ft from my door for the past one hour and a half!" - "ma'am they came to the door, but nobody answered" - "but I would have heard, and why did nobody call me...." Suddenly I must have fully woken up and realized the patheticness of the situation - I was arguing over a pizza ordered for one at 9:30pm on a Wednesday night. As punishment for being so lame, I went to bed on an empty stomach.
Last night I stumbled across a sheet of coupons. Since the fridge was empty and I couldn't drive anywhere, you know because I had been drinking by myself, I decided to commit the crime and order the freakin' pizza. I made the call, got transferred to a closer delivery location, placed my order, reminded them of my coupon, and proceeded to wait the habitual 45 minutes. Somehow shortly after I hung up the phone I managed to fall asleep (this should come as no surprise to my friends who call me the Narc). When I woke up I was so excited for my pizza, but I looked down at my watch and an hour and a half had passed. What the hell! Confused, pissed and hungry I called the pizza place and yelled: "you guys never delivered my pizza!" (this had to be true, my condo is tiny, i was on the couch, I would have heard - - maybe the hoodie on my sweatshirt muffled the sound) - "hold one moment, ma'am, let me check...it says here it was a bad order." - "bad order? I've been sitting 5 ft from my door for the past one hour and a half!" - "ma'am they came to the door, but nobody answered" - "but I would have heard, and why did nobody call me...." Suddenly I must have fully woken up and realized the patheticness of the situation - I was arguing over a pizza ordered for one at 9:30pm on a Wednesday night. As punishment for being so lame, I went to bed on an empty stomach.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, June 09, 2008
Talladega Knights
Sunday afternoon, driving back from an estrogen-filled weekened celebrating the last days of singledom for a friend, I was feeling the need for a reprieve and a little bit of male companionship. Given my recent winning streak in Atlanta, it should come as no surprise that the newest fly to swarm over my trap also happens to reside in the home of the Braves. After a week of some hard-core texting and emailing, it was time to come face-to-face, so we spontaneously'ish decided to meet in the middle for an all-out, redneck afternoon excursion. I had never been to the Talladega Superspeedway so this seemed like the obvious destination...and honestly we weren't given much choice given the dearth of attractions between Birmingham and Altanta. But I'm not complain', just sayin'.
Start your engines and meet at Exit 168 in T minus 1 hour. Please note, if you have to wait on your date, no gas station on Exit 168 has an ICEE machine, but the Shell Station's Race City has just about every memento related to NASCAR imagineable. We'll call my date Bobby because that seems to be the most fitting name for the setting. Bobby pulled up, I hopped in his ride and we made our way to the tracks. Just as excitement had peaked we pulled up only to find out that the last tour ended at 4:00pm. By our watches it was 4:45, and well by Bobby's it was 5:45 given that he was on Eastern time and all. Just before we resorted to pounding the steering wheel in anger a white pick-up truck appeared beside us (read Knight on a White Horse)...Dega Security. Bobby explains our devotion as fans and our devastation, so Ed (security) first confirms that we have our camera ready, and second commands, "follow me." Doors were opening. We made our way around the chain-linked fence, past the security gates, down through the tunnel and up to the most glorious vision that is...the Talladega Superspeedway. We drove past the garages, down the track and toward's the victory stage. Ed asked if we wanted our picture taken - duh - but mentioned that we couldn't reproduce any images. Then I asked him about reproducing in general... In an effort to honor his wishes, no pictures will be posted. Okay, maybe just this one:
Ed then asked if we wanted to go to the Finish Line...uh yeah. Pictures were taken at the finish line and as Ed put it, "Talladega looks perfect in the background." We thanked him profusely for his generosity and good deed, and in closing he said "Hey. I understand." I have to admit, I didn't understand at first, but now I totally get it. Ed loves his job. Ed loves that other people envy his job. Ed is, as Bobby likes to say, pretty awesome. We got back in the car and took our vicotry lap - said our own good byes to Ed and to the track, and made our way into town (downtown Dega, that is). Destination? Davey Allison Memorial Park.
Davey Allison Memorial Park is a beautiful patch of grass and trees with a circular walk of bronze reliefs of all of the major NASCAR players, and a brick path in the middle which contains bricks purchased by die-hard fans, chiseled with warm messages to their eternal heroes. A few favorites include:
While at the park we met the local lawnmower repairman who guided us to the best place to get a cold one. He recommended two Mexican restaurants: "Maragaritas is the cleanest. And there's one on the square, but I can't pronounce the name." We went to the one with the hard-to-pronounce name on the square. Please note, when making a small-town excursion on a Sunday, pack a cooler. No alcohol is served on Sundays. Since we didn't really want Mexican without a margarita we opted to end this red-neck rendezvous in style with fine dining at the Cracker Barrel, after browsing through the Country Store first...obvi. An order of chicken and dumplings, and one meatloaf dinner later, we rocked out in the famous CB rockers discussing our favorite part of the day. Bobby and I both agreed that if it weren't for Ed, none of this would have happened. We eventually parted ways, but not before we did some neckin' with my other Talladega Knight in the parking lot...Is there any other way to end it?
Start your engines and meet at Exit 168 in T minus 1 hour. Please note, if you have to wait on your date, no gas station on Exit 168 has an ICEE machine, but the Shell Station's Race City has just about every memento related to NASCAR imagineable. We'll call my date Bobby because that seems to be the most fitting name for the setting. Bobby pulled up, I hopped in his ride and we made our way to the tracks. Just as excitement had peaked we pulled up only to find out that the last tour ended at 4:00pm. By our watches it was 4:45, and well by Bobby's it was 5:45 given that he was on Eastern time and all. Just before we resorted to pounding the steering wheel in anger a white pick-up truck appeared beside us (read Knight on a White Horse)...Dega Security. Bobby explains our devotion as fans and our devastation, so Ed (security) first confirms that we have our camera ready, and second commands, "follow me." Doors were opening. We made our way around the chain-linked fence, past the security gates, down through the tunnel and up to the most glorious vision that is...the Talladega Superspeedway. We drove past the garages, down the track and toward's the victory stage. Ed asked if we wanted our picture taken - duh - but mentioned that we couldn't reproduce any images. Then I asked him about reproducing in general... In an effort to honor his wishes, no pictures will be posted. Okay, maybe just this one:
Ed then asked if we wanted to go to the Finish Line...uh yeah. Pictures were taken at the finish line and as Ed put it, "Talladega looks perfect in the background." We thanked him profusely for his generosity and good deed, and in closing he said "Hey. I understand." I have to admit, I didn't understand at first, but now I totally get it. Ed loves his job. Ed loves that other people envy his job. Ed is, as Bobby likes to say, pretty awesome. We got back in the car and took our vicotry lap - said our own good byes to Ed and to the track, and made our way into town (downtown Dega, that is). Destination? Davey Allison Memorial Park.
Davey Allison Memorial Park is a beautiful patch of grass and trees with a circular walk of bronze reliefs of all of the major NASCAR players, and a brick path in the middle which contains bricks purchased by die-hard fans, chiseled with warm messages to their eternal heroes. A few favorites include:
While at the park we met the local lawnmower repairman who guided us to the best place to get a cold one. He recommended two Mexican restaurants: "Maragaritas is the cleanest. And there's one on the square, but I can't pronounce the name." We went to the one with the hard-to-pronounce name on the square. Please note, when making a small-town excursion on a Sunday, pack a cooler. No alcohol is served on Sundays. Since we didn't really want Mexican without a margarita we opted to end this red-neck rendezvous in style with fine dining at the Cracker Barrel, after browsing through the Country Store first...obvi. An order of chicken and dumplings, and one meatloaf dinner later, we rocked out in the famous CB rockers discussing our favorite part of the day. Bobby and I both agreed that if it weren't for Ed, none of this would have happened. We eventually parted ways, but not before we did some neckin' with my other Talladega Knight in the parking lot...Is there any other way to end it?
Friday, May 30, 2008
One Hit Wonder
I met the Professor in the month of February at a party in Atlanta. We talked about music and what not, and I mentioned that the next time he passed through my hometown he should give me a buzz and we could go check out some bands at this new venue in town. Well, I never really heard from him until May, and he called to say that he wanted to come in town and take me out. Sounds good, right? I mean, the guy was extremely good looking and exuded a strong sexual vibe...and he was a former sociology professor. He got to my house, picked me up, and we went to the neighborhood restaurant down the street. All-in-all we had really good conversation and were having a pretty good time. Some of his friends came to meet us at the tail-end of dinner to have drinks and then we all decided to go to the bars. Well, the Professor and I took our own car and once we parked he pulled out a cigarette. No big deal, people smoke. It's okay. Well, the circumference of this particular cigarette appeared to be a little bit larger than most, and when the Professor lit it, he took a really large inhale. Okay, so apparently it wasn't a nicotine cigarette...he was smoking the weed out of a one-hitter. what? do people do this on a first date? Normally I am one to speak-up, but I was kind of shocked and didn't say anything. I'm also pretty sure proper etiquette is to offer the other person a puff on your pipe. No offer. And while I don't smoke, I was pretty offended. I just pretended I was ignorant to the whole situation, and then we went on to dance the night away.
So, do you let this get in the way of a second date? Ugh, I guess not. So the professor comes back to Birmingham to go out again. We went out to dinner with one of my best friends and her husband, and then out on the town. Well, what I didn't realize is that when the Professor excused himself for an inordinate number of times throughout the evening, he was taking his one-hitter with him. After a long night of eating and drinking I tend to pass out pretty early, which is exactly what I did. I woke up, Professor next to me, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. What I saw before me was one of the most classic displays of the munchies...ever. Apparently while I was catching some Z's, the Professor was participating in a little pantry raid. There were multiple empty yogurt containers, a turned over cereal box...empty, wrappers from some frozen something from the freezer, and perhaps the best part was the red sauce smeared across the front of my microwave. I first was in awe, then I was laughing, but then I was pissed because I legitimately didn't have any food left.
We went out a couple of more times, but I knew that a wake'n'bake wasn't in my long-term future. The Professor and I talked on the phone one night, and I was telling him about my day or something completely insignificant to pass the time when suddenly there was complete silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?" I said, "Hello? Are you there? Hel-looooo?" Suddenly a choked up voice, as if in mid-swallow on the other end says "Sorry...I just took a really. big. hit." "Oh," I said. To which he responds, "This isn't going to work out, is it?".
"Uh. No"
So, do you let this get in the way of a second date? Ugh, I guess not. So the professor comes back to Birmingham to go out again. We went out to dinner with one of my best friends and her husband, and then out on the town. Well, what I didn't realize is that when the Professor excused himself for an inordinate number of times throughout the evening, he was taking his one-hitter with him. After a long night of eating and drinking I tend to pass out pretty early, which is exactly what I did. I woke up, Professor next to me, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. What I saw before me was one of the most classic displays of the munchies...ever. Apparently while I was catching some Z's, the Professor was participating in a little pantry raid. There were multiple empty yogurt containers, a turned over cereal box...empty, wrappers from some frozen something from the freezer, and perhaps the best part was the red sauce smeared across the front of my microwave. I first was in awe, then I was laughing, but then I was pissed because I legitimately didn't have any food left.
We went out a couple of more times, but I knew that a wake'n'bake wasn't in my long-term future. The Professor and I talked on the phone one night, and I was telling him about my day or something completely insignificant to pass the time when suddenly there was complete silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?" I said, "Hello? Are you there? Hel-looooo?" Suddenly a choked up voice, as if in mid-swallow on the other end says "Sorry...I just took a really. big. hit." "Oh," I said. To which he responds, "This isn't going to work out, is it?".
"Uh. No"
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Creepy 80's Video YouTube Dude Strikes Back
Remember the Hall 'n' Oats video I received a little over a month ago? Well, Creepy 80's Video guy has returned, with the following email:
Again, I hate to be a pest, but I just could not resist sending this to you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55nTwg5NIPM
Do you really hate it? You really couldn't resist sending? Is there an unsubscribe button that I'm missing? First Hall 'n' Oats, now Bonnie Tyler, I think it's pretty safe to say that the Bangles "Eternal Flame" is next. Is this some form of courtship that I'm unaware of? Am I to be attracted not to the man, but to his selection of horrific music videos from the 1980s? I mean, these aren't even funny. You're not funny.
Again, I hate to be a pest, but I just could not resist sending this to you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55nTwg5NIPM
Do you really hate it? You really couldn't resist sending? Is there an unsubscribe button that I'm missing? First Hall 'n' Oats, now Bonnie Tyler, I think it's pretty safe to say that the Bangles "Eternal Flame" is next. Is this some form of courtship that I'm unaware of? Am I to be attracted not to the man, but to his selection of horrific music videos from the 1980s? I mean, these aren't even funny. You're not funny.
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